don't get too close
by dreamsofdramione
Summary: A blush crawls up the flush of her chest and seeps into the skin of her neck before staining her cheeks. He's studying her like a painting, and she wants nothing more than to be a masterpiece in his eyes. or War era dramione featuring defect Draco and Order member Hermione on a mission that goes awry. Tensions run high in the aftermath as they deal with their changing dynamic.


_Authors note:_

_When you feel my heat_

_Look into my eyes_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide_

_Don't get too close_

_It's dark inside_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide_

**Demons - Imagine Dragons**

**For mrsren96 -** It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you like this little one shot with defect draco and order member hermione as partners during the war.

* * *

The air is thick, vibrating with dark magic in the shadowless depths of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione isn't sure how much time has passed. It could have been minutes, hours, maybe even days, since they first huddled close together under the invisibility cloak. The wood of her wand presses like a knife into her palm as sparks of magic arc through her veins, just waiting for the sight of a billowing cloak set against the pitch-black backdrop.

"What are we doing, Granger?" Malfoy's voice shakes her from the reverie of watching every nearly imperceptible dip and curve of the forest in front of them.

"Waiting." It's whispered between labored breaths he's sure she's aware of from the scant space between them. "Shhh." She purses her lips, listening for the telltale crack or snap of a twig in the distance.

A long while later, when her bum is numb from the forest floor and her eyelids heavy from the wait that has yet to pay off, she hears his distinct drawl again. "We should fall back." His breath fans over the nape of her neck, skirting around the tangle of curls that's fallen from her clumsy ponytail. She hadn't had time to prepare for this mission. Her typically organized bag is haphazardly filled with anything and everything she could get her hands on in the handful of minutes before they had to meet at the Apparition point.

"Kingsley hasn't signaled us yet." The protean charm placed on the coin in her pocket hasn't activated in what feels like hours. They've been huddled together waiting for a group of Death Eaters that had been spotted leaving Hogwarts. According to the bits of intel they were able to glean prior to arriving, they'd been expected to traipse right through the path they've been watching, but so far, not a single soul has wandered into their vicinity.

With a quick flick of her wand, glowing numbers illuminate in the small space, letting them know it's been about four hours without a single word. Glancing around once more, Hermione breathes, "_Expecto Patronum_ ," and sends her otter on its way with an inquiring message.

As soon as the final wisp of the otter's tail disappears into the brush and out of sight, the crack of Apparition has her sitting up on her haunches, anxiously awaiting whatever made the noise. Another pop sounds, followed by another, and then another, and Hermione can feel her heartbeat thrumming through her veins, laced with the magic that's been pulsing at the tips of her fingers.

"Get ready." Again his whispers float along the back of her neck, caressing the sensitive skin and lighting her already frayed nerves on fire.

Wands at the ready, they slowly rise to their feet as the crunching footsteps draw near.

Long black robes sweep the grounds of the forest as a group of Death Eaters move closer. She can feel Malfoy about to tug the cloak from around them when she reaches back, planting a palm against his chest and shaking her head, hoping he can see clearly enough that it's not quite time.

It all happens so fast.

As soon as the group moves past them, he hauls the cloak off and fires hex after hex into the group. Hermione shoots _Incarcerous_, binding a few between ducking and dodging flying green beams of light. Their voices boom against the quiet of the forest, and a red stream of light grazes the edge of her thigh. Letting out an involuntary yelp, Hermione lands on her knees, wand still busy churning out poorly aimed spells the entire way down.

A roar of a command rumbles through Malfoy's frame at the sound of her scream, and a blazing green trail tracks forward to land in the center of a cloaked chest. It's followed by another and then another as he stands before her and rains spell after spell into the group in front of them. It's all she can do to maintain the _Protego,_ casting a shield of safety around them as green dart after green dart light up the area.

Her thigh burns. Blood seeps through the denim of her jeans, gushing down to mix with the dirt beneath her knees.

When the lights stop flashing and Malfoy goes eerily silent, Hermione hears his crunching footsteps receding toward the group of downed men. She lifts her head, lowers her wand and speaks a soft _Lumos_, watching his boot connect with a crack against the jaw of one of the masked men. Reaching down, she sees him lift the mask and almost hears his sneer. Another crunch splits the silence as Malfoy's muddy boot stomps across a pale face in the distance.

All at once, Hermione regains her wits.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Stop!" It has little effect, his shoulders fraught with tension as he continues the assault. "Draco, STOP!" she screams until her throat feels raw and he finally turns to look at her.

Feeling a little faint, she watches his eyes grow wide, and he quickly casts _Stupefy_ a few times amidst the other bodies before rushing to her side. "Granger." It sounds as if he's choking. "Granger. What'd they hit you with?"

If she didn't know any better, she'd almost think he sounds worried, but even in her half-dazed state, she knows that can't possibly be the case. Sure they've been field partners for nearing a year now, but they'd barely breached anything beyond that. Even the simplest of exchanges always seemed to end in arguments that left her feathers more than a little ruffled.

She feels like she can barely breathe, her chest constricting and the burning ache of her thigh searing through her veins and slowing her pulse. "I don't know." Glancing down once more, her eyes slide shut for just a moment, a second of reprieve from the all-consuming darkness threatening to take her away. "I don't know," she whispers once more, feeling her resolve to hang on weakening by the second.

"Granger." His firm grip rattles her shoulders as she tries to open her eyes, but they're impossibly heavy and it hurts too much.

"_Granger_." His voice suddenly feels far away. "Fuck! Hang on."

* * *

The next thing she knows, Hermione blinks awake to lights that are too bright and warm fingers laced between her own. Shaking off the thick blanket of sleep, she twists around, recognizing her surroundings with a start. She's back in the safe house they've been sharing for the last few weeks, but instead of her threadbare sheets and trunk in the corner, she sees a deeper set of sheets and a crammed bookshelf she's all too familiar with.

"Malfoy?" Her voice cracks and curves around each syllable as she tries to clear her throat. The fingers wrapped around her own tense, then release, before she hears his chair scrape back and a head of blonde hair fills her vision.

"Granger?" Silver eyes dart left and right as he takes her in. There's an almost frantic energy tugging between them, and she wonders just how close of a call this one was.

Leaning up, she hisses at the burn of the muscle in her leg before she looks down to find it bandaged up to her hip. Her dirt-caked jeans have been discarded somewhere, she's left in simply a large shirt—she only just realizes is definitely not her own—and the same pair of plain cotton knickers she'd been wearing the night before. The emerald green of the Slytherin jersey stares back at her as she tries to wrap her head around her current state. "What happened?" It comes out as barely a whisper.

"You were hurt. A Death Eater hit you with a hex to the side of your thigh and flayed open the skin down to the bone. It was eating away at the muscle by the time we got back here, and the rest of the teams were unavailable. So I — I did what I could. The blood loss it was — it was—" he pauses, sucking in a breath, and for a moment, the reality of just how serious it really was washes over her. "It was close, Granger. Too close."

The tone of his voice is foreign to even her own ears, and Hermione finds herself studying the blond intently as his chest heaves with the effort to remain as stoic as possible. "How close is too close?" It may be morbid to ask, but she always has been too curious for her own good. Hermione finds herself, yet again, asking questions she probably doesn't want the answers to.

Malfoy clears his throat and stands up straight, brushing his palms against his still dirty jeans as he steps back. "You lost a lot of blood, and apparating with you like that was not the brightest idea I've ever had."

A hint of laughter spills unbidden from her lips, and the intense stare she receives as a result sobers her immediately. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were concerned, Malfoy." She knows it can't be true, despite the few times she allowed herself to entertain that very idea, and in the middle of war, there's no room for affection. Especially not between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. But they aren't really those people anymore, she reasons. They haven't been in quite some time. While yes, they do still argue and bicker with the best of them, she's seen a different side of the man standing before her in the last few months. Long, agonizing nights spent wading through their past, littered with apologies and heartfelt reassurances were simply necessary if they were to work together.

Malfoy scoffs, actually honest to god scoffs aloud before towering over her form once more. "Of course I'm bloody concerned, Granger! You could have died!" He's nearly shouting. The vein at his temple is thumping and his eyes are blown wide.

At her startled stare, he pulls back again, a clear war of his own waging beneath the white blond head of his, and Hermione finds herself studying every move he makes. She can't help herself when she asks, "Why?"

For one quick second, barely the blink of an eye, she swears the open and honest look he shoots her way is going to translate into a slew of words she thinks she may just want to hear, but then, his features harden. The steely snarl she's grown too accustomed to returns, and she lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Just take the bloody potions on the bedside table, and go back to sleep, Granger. I'll be here when you wake up." His heavy footfalls echo down the hallway after the door slams shut with a deafening thud.

Unstoppering and tipping back what appears to be blood replenishing potion, a pain draught, and dreamless sleep, Hermione finishes off each one. She gulps down the entire glass of water on her bedside table and settles back into the pillows that are entirely too fluffy to be in any safe house.

_Poncy git,_ she muses, smiling to herself as she replays the range of emotions that had flitted across the sharp curves of his features. Was he concerned? It would make sense. She was his partner after all, but was it more? Would she really allow herself to hope that the same man who was once the poster child for blood purity has really turned over a new enough leaf to find interest in a Muggle-born like herself? Why did she even care? Even as she asked herself the last question, the answer was far too obvious.

They'd always had chemistry. Whether wanting to hex each other into oblivion, screaming at the tops of their lungs until both of their faces were coated in red, or the teasing banter they'd only recently slipped into, the chemistry, at least in her eyes, was undeniable. But does she want him to care? Can she handle it if he doesn't?

Question after question swirls in her mind as she allows herself to slip once more into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

An insistent tapping sounds at the window. _Tap tap tap. _At first, she thinks it's a dream, still half dazed and barely awake. It keeps going though, letting her know it isn't simply a figment of her imagination, and before she can clear the sleep from her eyes, Hermione sees Draco's tall, lean figure make its way to the window. Retrieving the missive tied around the Order owl's leg and rewarding him with a treat from the bowl near the window, he slowly unrolls the parchment. Walking back to the chair by her bedside, his eyes remain glued to the scroll until she clears her throat. "Who's it from?"

"Kingsley." Handing the parchment over, Hermione quickly scans the short message.

They're wanted at headquarters later that night to discuss the outcome of the mission. Four Death Eaters were captured alive, although Kingsley made it known one, in particular, was in far worse shape than the others, and five had been killed in action.

"They'll want a report," she says automatically, recalling the streams of light illuminating the moonless sky and the sounds of the spells cracking like lightning through the still air. An involuntary shudder racks her frame at the not-so-distant memory.

"I know." He seems tense, and for the first time since she's woken, she turns to really look at him. Eyes rimmed red, hair mussed from what appears to be the effort of his own fingers tugging through it, and hard lines creased around each eye tell her he isn't in the best of moods.

"I'll, uhm, I'll write yours if you want." It's a weak effort as far as apologies go, but it's the best she can come up with at the moment.

"I don't need you to write my reports, Granger. You need rest."

Just as he rises out of the chair, Hermione's hand darts out to wrap around his wrist. "Draco." His whispered name sits heavily in the silence stretching between them.

"What?" It's more of a grunt than anything.

With a quick breath in, mustering all of her courage for the moment, Hermione breathes her thanks. "I'm sorry, and — thank you. I don't know what would have—"

"Save it, Granger. Write your report."

When he tries to turn again to leave, her fingers press more firmly into the skin of his wrist. "Stop it, Draco. I mean it. Thank you."

The guarded expression he's been wearing for the last few hours appears to droop and slip away. "Don't thank me. Just stay alive if you can manage it."

In an instant, she sees the familiar walls return, and she huffs out a frustrated breath. Fingers digging in deeper and tugging him closer, she stares him down. "Why do you do that? Why save me and then scold me, Draco? I thought we were past this petty spitefulness."

When he refuses to answer, hard lines carved against sharp features, she rises to her feet. Despite her short stature, Hermione knows she can be as menacing as she sets her mind to, and she schools her features into the hardest she can manage while the effects of the potions still linger in her veins. "Answer me."

Glancing off to the side, Malfoy rips his wrist from her grip, and his nostrils flare as he clenches his jaw. "Go back to bed."

"No." Just to prove a point, she stomps her foot and crosses her arms, straightening her spine and squeezing out every last extra inch she can manage. Fully upright, and still a foot smaller than the blond before her, Hermione narrows her eyes. "I will not go back to bed. I am fully capable of taking care of myself, and all I wanted to do was say thank you. But you can't get out of your own fucking way, and let me apologize, and thank you. What is your bloody problem, Malfoy?!" She doesn't know when she moved closer, but they're barely a hairsbreadth apart when her chest heaves and her breasts, still clad in emerald green, brush against the white cotton of his t-shirt.

Again, his jaw twitches, and she's about ready to scream in his bloody face when he finally meets her gaze. "You want to know what my bloody problem is, Granger?" His voice is low, menacing, sending shockwaves through her system as he steps forward, backing her up with each threatening step. "You. You are my bloody problem, and I don't know how to solve it. You almost died out there today!" His palms land firmly on her shoulders, and she feels the wall behind her press into her back as he tightens his grip. "You almost died in my care, and what would everyone think then, huh? What would they think if their _golden girl,_" the phrase she hates more than anything drips from his lips in the sweetest of saccharine tones, and she bristles as he continues to rant, "had died on my watch? They look at me and see a Death Eater, Hermione."

Her name might as well be a growl, and she pushes her finger firmly into his chest as she puffs up at the insinuation. "They know you're on our side, Draco! You're a member of the Order just as much as I am, and you bloody well know it. So save your bullshite for someone who'll believe you!"

"They hate me, Granger!" He's screaming at her now, the snarl on his face entirely too reminiscent of the schoolyard bully he had once been. "You're the only one—" He pauses, chest heaving as his fingers dig deeper into the bone of her shoulder.

"What?" It comes out a bit breathless, her eyes wide and open and boring into the open expression he's wearing for more than just a second this time. "I'm the only one what, Draco?" It's much softer this time, a stark contrast to their shouts and screams just moments before.

Hermione feels his fingers flex against her shoulder before they track upward just an inch, curving around the thump of her pulse at the side of her neck, and she thinks she understands.

"I know who you are, Draco." Brows raised, she stares at the molten silver simmering in his gaze. "I trust you. The Order trusts you. You're a good man, Draco." Inch by inch, she slowly raises to the tips of her toes. His breath fans against her face as his fingers swipe at the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. "I trust you," she breathes again, brushing her nose against his and waiting for only a moment before pressing her lips against his.

He's still and stoic, and for a solid minute, Hermione presses forward. Just as she's about to pull back, realizing the grave error she's just made, she feels the tension leave his shoulders followed quickly by the insistent pressure of his lips against hers. It isn't harsh, or bruising, or all the things she'd thought his kiss might contain. Sure, she'd theorized what kissing him might feel like among other things on those long nights spent in the safe houses sequestered to themselves. Perhaps she thought of him between her sheets and whispered his name on a few dark, lonely nights over the last year, but he isn't anything like she expected. And his kiss is soft where she expected hard, curved where she expected rigid, and pliable where she expected nothing but steel. Pulling back for the briefest of seconds, she rests her forehead against his and sucks in a gasping breath.

Then, as quick as it had ended, it begins again. This time it is what she'd first expected—fast, deep, and all-consuming in the best of ways as he pries her lips apart and plunders the depths of her mouth. Their tongues tangle, and a moan seeps from her parted mouth as he pants against her lips.

"Draco."

Two broken syllables swell in the nonexistent space between their mouths before he's crashing into her again, pushing her back against the wall. One hand tangles in her curls, turning her slightly and slanting his lips fully against hers as the other traces a burning path to her hip. Hoisting up the bare flesh of her uninjured thigh, he grinds into her center as a rumbling groan vibrates straight through his chest. Her nipples pucker, flush against the green fabric, before she feels his hands trace the hem and tug it up. In seconds flat, it's up and over her arms, leaving her chest bared to the burning heat of his gaze. Returning her lips to his in a bruising kiss, she rucks the fabric of his own shirt up. The rough denim of his jeans grinds against the cotton of her knickers relentlessly in a delicious friction, the swell of his growing erection prominent. He barely manages to shed his shirt completely before he's claiming her mouth again.

She can feel it in his kiss. The passion, possession, and reverent obsession — all pulling mewl after mewl from her swollen lips. The heat from his fingertips seeps into her knickers, drenched beneath the brush of his touch as he swipes at the swollen bud. Babbling nonsensical things against the tender flesh of her neck, he presses in, and she keens. "Draco," she breathes, barely coherent enough to remember any other words, let alone speak them.

The muscles of his back tense beneath her fingertips, and he stills. "Granger." His moan of her name feels like heaven against her skin before he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

She's struck in that moment by the image before her. The way his hair is mussed and standing on end; his typically stoic exterior shattered to bits at her hands alone. He looks beautiful, ethereal, and more real than she thinks she's ever seen him. Stunned silent, Hermione completely loses her train of thought until she sees the walls slowly creep back in as his hands track away from where she needs him the most. "Bed," she squeaks, and heat darkens his eyes once more, hoisting her up in an instant and turning them toward the mattress.

Laid out on the too soft mattress with her hair splayed in all directions above her, Hermione's chest heaves with the effort to regain her composure. Every fiber of her being is riddled with lust, and all she wants, in that instant, is to feel his bare flesh against the heat of her palms, feel the silken steel of him filling her up. Slowly, he crawls up the bed, hovering over her near naked form, and she squirms under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes drink in every inch of her curves, hands fluttering along her sides.

"Gorgeous," he mumbles. "Bloody gorgeous."

A blush crawls up the flush of her chest and seeps into the skin of her neck before staining her cheeks. He's studying her like a painting, and she wants nothing more than to be a masterpiece in his eyes. The lean lines of his chest are on full display, and she gapes at the way the muscles flex under the smooth coating of skin as he sinks down on top of her. With deft hands, she reaches down and plucks the button of his trousers, pushing them down to find only bare skin beneath. Running her fingers over every dip and curve she can find on her way back to his chest, he hisses. Her nails scrape lines between the criss-cross of his scars, and he presses hard into her center. Lifting her own hips to meet the friction, she feels his length throbbing against her folds.

"Draco."

Pulling back an inch just to press into her again, his teeth carve lines into the nape of her neck, and she's so turned on she can't even think straight. Dreams could never do this feeling justice, and Hermione catalogs each guttural grunt and groan to replay over and over again on nights when she has nothing more than her own hand to keep her company.

The pressure on her hips is gone, but his thumbs hook under the waistband of her knickers. Draco drags them down so slowly she can count the seconds in time with each of her breaths. His fingers trace up from her knee, until he brushes her bare center with a featherlight touch. She cants her hips up, seeking more, a whimper bubbling up her throat when he finally relents. Her back curves into an arch, lids fluttering closed as desire burns its way down to curl in her belly.

Hot kisses trail up her neck, over her jaw, until his lips slant over hers again, and she takes anything she can get. It all feels so right: the way his fingers pluck at her clit, dragging up and down through her slick as his tongue swipes and licks inside of her mouth. It's too much yet not enough all at once as tremors creep up from her toes until she's practically trembling in his hold, clinging hard to his shoulders. Somehow, someway, in no more than a few minutes, she can feel herself approaching a peak. Grinding her hips against the steady ministrations of his hand, she moans into his mouth before he steals her breath away as she comes with a gasp.

Hermione's pulse is hammering in her ears, and all she wants is to feel how well he'll fit inside of her heat. Reaching down, she wraps her fingers around his hardened length and drags the tip through her silken folds. A deep groan vibrates through his chest, and her nipples tighten painfully against the warmth of his skin.

"Hermione." He breathes it out on a whisper, low, deep, a tone that has her vibrating with a need so intense it sends shivers up her spine.

Lining him up, she lifts her hips to position him at her weeping entrance. In one smooth thrust, he slides into the velvety caress of her welcoming heat. They both pause, panting on a moan as she adjusts to the sensation. She feels so full and complete and simply surrounded by all things Draco that she briefly wonders if they were meant to do this. Nothing should ever feel so right if it's even the least bit wrong. Before long, he's moving again, pulling back, pushing in, pumping in and out, and panting against the shell of her ear as her nails carve red grooves into the bare skin of his back.

Long moments pass, filled with nothing but the sounds of their heaving pants, gasping for air and groaning together in a symphony so sinful she's adrift in a sea of sensation. Her nails bite into the skin of his shoulders as she holds onto him with everything she can muster. He's moving, and pumping, and grinding against her core, and she can only wonder why nothing has ever felt like this before.

One of Draco's hands slides down to her hip, and he tilts her just so before stars burst behind her lids as she rockets toward a second orgasm.

"Does that feel good, love?" His lips tickle her ear, warm breath against the sensitive skin of her neck resulting in tingles erupting all along her scalp. All of it causes her to keen.

"So good. I'm — I'm — I'm almost there."

When he lifts his head and their eyes connect, she can see the steely silver glazed with lust. "Come for me."

His hips snap, and she lifts to the pressure, desperately trying to hold his gaze as she feels him pulsing inside of her. A few more quick thrusts and she's crashing through the barrier of her second climax, breaking to pieces under his expert hand and shattering against the sheets underneath them. The feel of his own orgasm wracking his body with shuddering tremors is nothing compared to the look in his eyes as he watches her come.

Neither moves for moments on end, heaving in gulps of air, trying desperately to catch their breath. Relaxing her palms against the blades of his shoulders, she smooths them down over the expanse of his back, pulling him into her and coaxing him to lay down. Their lips meet in a languid kiss. Their tongues sweep together and press into open mouths as she regains her wits.

Fingers dance along her shoulder in light passes before he pulls back. "You… I… Hermione—" But no more words come, just searching eyes darting back and forth between hers as she feels her lips twist into a slow smile.

"Draco," she returns. Fluttering begins in her chest when his own lips quirk up into a full blown grin.

But he doesn't say anything else, simply leans down to kiss her once more. Whatever talk they need to have, it isn't the time. Hoping against hope that this might just mean something more to him too, she allows her eyes to flutter shut as she hums through his slow, sweet kisses.

He pulls the sheet up to cover them both, shifting onto his side and pulling her into the frame of his arms. He holds her like something precious, like even a fraction less would leave her the room to move, to leave him, but she doesn't intend on it. Sleepy and sated, she snuggles against his chest and hopes when they wake in a few hours to go to headquarters that this perfect moment they've carved out just for them may lead to something more.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Huge, huge thanks to my lovely betas bettysnooper and lilibug-xx for giving this all the love and attention it needed!

Comments and kudos **always** appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it! This is only second foray into the lovely world of Dramione so I hope I did the characters justice.

**Come find me on tumblr dreamsofdramione!**


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